


Looking For A Sign

by pentacs14



Category: 10 O'Clock Live RPF, 8 Out of 10 Cats RPF, Big Fat Quiz of the Year RPF, British Actor RPF, British Comedian RPF
Genre: M/M, don't know where this came from, don't worry - i'm a sucker for a sappy ending, jimmy carr and whoever your own personal otp is, lots of swearing - cause nothing involving Jimmy Carr is ever clean, second person point of view, touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentacs14/pseuds/pentacs14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy has a knack for rousing the most intense emotions. Anger, annoyance, irritation, exasperation... but in the end it always comes down to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking For A Sign

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer: Do not own (haha, as if anyone could own Jimmy Carr - though after the tax scandal maybe he's up for rent?), am not making any profit, etc. Do not read if you don't like m/m pairings.
> 
> Unusual disclaimer: Don't read if you dislike second-person point-of-view. I hope it doesn't throw anyone off the story too much.

You weren't exactly sneaking down the hallway - in fact, you'd be a little surprised to find that half of London hadn't heard you coming - but when you reach the dressing room door it's to find Jimmy thoroughly engrossed in his paper and rather pointedly ignoring your arrival.

There's any number of reasons you ought to turn around and walk away, not least of which is his chilly reception, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Instead you lean against the door frame knowing it annoys the hell out of him when you slouch like that but bad habits die hard and you've got other things on your mind besides your posture right now. 

He clears his throat, shifts irritably in his chair, rustles his paper with an annoyed snap and generally makes his displeasure known but he still won't turn around and acknowledge you. A small smile slips onto your lips as you watch him feign disinterest while having a complete hissy fit. Even now you can't help but be amused at how easy it is to wind him right up tight.

Jimmy's never been one for keeping his opinions to himself and you know it's only a matter of time before he tires of the silent treatment and starts venting. If there's one thing you know it's how to push his buttons without even trying.

He breaks sooner than you expect, his familiar derisive drawl almost startling in its suddenness since you still can't see his face.

"Sorry," he spits out without preamble, "but who precisely let you in here?"

The question is obviously rhetorical and just as obviously meant to convey how thoroughly unimpressed he is with you at the moment but you answer it anyway. Your mum always did say that you had more sass than sense.

"No one," you reply, a hint of pride coloring your tone. "I let myself in."

"Oh, good." Again his snippy attitude implies the exact opposite. "I'd hate to have to fire someone on Christmas fucking Eve."

You allow yourself an amused shake of your head only because he's still buried in his paper and can't see you. You're not that much of an idiot.

"You don't have the authority to fire anyone," you remind him dryly. 

"No, but I can make their life truly un-fucking-pleasant."

Well, trust Jimmy to turn a peacemaking mission into a pissing contest. You haven't forgotten what a melodramatic cunt he can be when he gets into one of his strops and right now you suppose he has some right but seriously... you came here trying to make things better not worse and this is the reception you get? 

"Jesus, Jimmy," you say, letting your mouth run away with your brain - not for the first time and probably not for the last. "What the hell is your damage?"

Alright, so maybe you're a little bit of an idiot after all. There's no need for a thermometer to know that Jimmy's already frosty attitude has dipped well below zero and you could just about kick yourself because this is so not going according to plan and that's totally not fair because you were trying dammit! You knew this was going to be tough but you had no idea it would go downhill quite so fast.

"My damage?" he repeats tightly. "You want to know what my fucking damage is?"

Each syllable comes out several octaves higher than the last and you can practically see the steam billowing off of him in waves. It's a struggle but you valiantly keep yourself from humming I'm A Little Teapot. You have that much self-preservation left it seems.

"You are my fucking damage," he continues with a snarl. "You and your stupid jokes and your stupid hair and your stupid... fat fucking face!"

You start to wince out of habit - everyone knows Jimmy is infamous for his ability to flay people to the quick with his words alone - then stop in confusion.

Your face wasn't fat. Was it?

A hasty glance in the mirror reveals perfectly normal face proportions here, thank you very much. You sigh in relief before your eyes meet in the mirror. He's finally dropped the paper and it's not looking good for your chances of walking out of here with all your bits intact.

"I'm sorry I have stupid hair," you blurt out with all the gravity you can manage.

He swivels the chair around to face you but its feeling like a hollow victory at this point. The glare leveled in your direction is so hot it could have been used to light soggy kindling.

"You're pissed, aren't you?" he snaps accusingly.

It's more of a statement than a question really and it's getting bloody hard to keep up with this conversation when your mind is spinning hazily and Jimmy refuses to mean what he says and say what he means.

Except for the stupid hair part. He never misses an opportunity to make fun of your 'sticky-uppy' hair.

And maybe it's not just your hair that's stupid because it feels like every move you make is more idiotic than the last. It was foolish of you to come here - especially considering how difficult it is to remain standing upright at the moment and the floor, when you squint at it, looks a million miles away.

"I'm sorry," you whisper again, leaning miserably against the door frame.

For coming here, for finding your courage at the bottom of a bottle, for getting him so angry he left in the first place, for stalking his friends until their glares turned to looks of pity and they told you he'd been crashing at the studio to avoid you.

He could take his pick, you were sorry for all of it, and for a split second it seems like that might be enough. His face softens minutely and your relief is so intense you could almost swoon.

Then his eyes shutter and the mask returns. You should have known it wasn't going to be that easy. Nothing ever is with Jimmy but that's part of what draws you to him.

It's the quirks and the moods and the uncertainty of it all, almost as much as his intelligence and quick wit and sharp tongue, that keep you coming back time after time.

His habit of slagging off his 'girlfriend' in public to keep up the pretense, his insistence on always topping - not that you really mind that part, he's got a single-minded determination when he puts his mind to something that really works to your advantage - and the filthy words spoken in that posh tone of voice.

The smirk he can't hide whenever he thinks he's been exceedingly clever or managed to shock someone speechless, that ridiculous laugh of his that he refuses to be ashamed of and a million other outrageous mannerisms and airs that drive you right up the wall but you know you can't live without.

It's the whole damn package and he makes you work for it but at the end of the day it's worth it. It's always been worth it for Jimmy.

Despite the whiskey and regret eddying in your brain you know what you have to do. If it's groveling Jimmy Carr wants then groveling he will get.

In your mind you step forward, sink down on one knee with a hand over your heart and pour your soul out. You lay it all bare without a qualm or a quiver.

If these last few days have taught you anything it's that cheap alcohol is not an option - no matter how drunk you start out - and that you are literally lost without him, a mere shadow of a man lacking purpose and direction, stumbling through a world left flat and grey without him.

In reality you trip over your own feet and practically pitch yourself into his lap. Your foreheads meet with a sickening thump and the world starts to reel more than it already was.

He's swearing up a blue streak but you're too busy trying not to be sick all over him to do much of anything at the moment, despite how much you may want to start crying. Your luck is shit right now and that is as it should be really.

Jimmy left in a towering rage without bothering to take a single thing with him, even a change of clothes - and isn't it hysterical that he still manages to look stylish and put together in the same suit three days running and you look shit no matter how long you stay in the shower hoping that when you come out it'll all have been a bad dream – but he still managed to take everything that mattered with him.

The balance of the universe is off and nothing is going to be okay, or make sense, or work out for you until Jimmy is back where he belongs, at your side, in your life.

“You absolute pillock,” he breathes softly and this time you're thankful his tone sounds nothing like it ought to.

By rights he should still be furious with you but instead he sounds equal parts resigned and amused. You think for a second that you ought to resent it - you're not a misbehaving puppy, after all - but he's carding his fingers through your hair and you melt against him.

“Are you coming home?” you ask desperately, terrified of the answer despite his seemingly thawed attitude.

“Are you done acting like a right twat?” he demands snidely but his hands remain gentle on your aching head and you dare to hope.

"I missed you," you reply inanely.

It falls far short of the soul-baring declaration you had planned earlier but it's all you can manage with your head threatening to split in two. It seems to do the trick though because he gives a short sharp bark of amusement and buries his face in your hair.

You wonder if he notices it smells like his shampoo. You used half the bottle trying to comfort yourself with his scent. God, you're a fucking sap when it comes to Jimmy.

“I missed you, too,” he whispers.

And if that's all he's going to say about this whole week-long fiasco then that's okay with you because you've realized something in the last few days. You don't really need all the sickly sweet declarations and public displays of affection that you thought you had to have to be happy. You don't need the fancy trappings and the silly traditions. God, when have you and Jimmy ever been traditional anyway?

All you need is him and this and a kiss that tastes of sour whiskey and hurts because you've both been too worked up to shave recently and its absolutely fucking brilliant.

If you could stay here in this moment for the rest of your life you would die a happy man.

Sometime later he shakes you and you realize that you've been happily breathing in the scent of him, snuffling into the crook of his neck like an overlarge dog and he hasn't complained about the indignity of it all.

And isn't that a sign in and of itself? The constantly prim and always proper - in a sense - Jimmy Carr allowing you to despoil his normally painfully precise demeanor.

It seems like a small thing but you'll take anything you can get and treasure it all the more for its rarity.

"Seriously," he says and you look up in confusion. "How did you get in? Because they locked up most of this place when everyone left for the holidays. They even locked the fucking break room door. Like someone was going to break in just to nick the coffee and crisps. Come on! I mean, yeah, I was going to nick some coffee and crisps but not a lot."

You can't help it. You start laughing at the faintly disgruntled look on his face, as if this were some nefarious plot on their part to discomfit him.

Eventually he joins in, not so stuck up that he can't laugh at himself, and the expression on his face is rueful enough to make you feel like things could maybe be okay again.

Maybe the universe has been just as out of whack on his end without you in it. Maybe he needs you just as much as you need him.

And maybe that's the sign you were looking for all along.

**Author's Note:**

> I read a superb fic some time back that featured Jimmy Carr and Mark Lamarr by keeper_of_sheep on the britpanelslash livejournal community. At the time I really had no idea who Mark Lamarr was (I will admit to not being a devotee of Never Mind the Buzzcocks until Simon Amstell was well and truly established) but I loved the tone of the thing enough that the story really stuck with me. In fact, my story sort of accidentally acquired its second-person point-of-view as an homage to that one. I wanted to do something in the same vein but knew absolutely nothing about Mark Lamarr and so didn't feel comfortable using him as one of my main characters. And this is what happened... I hope it presents itself well. I truly do have quite the thing for Jimmy Carr; filthy sense of humor, hideous laugh and all!


End file.
